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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428464">flight risk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivant/pseuds/vivant'>vivant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warrior Nun (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ava tries coming out, Beatrice is trapped inside her own head, F/F, Feelings are felt but not acted upon, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Mary is the only reasonable one among them as usual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:33:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivant/pseuds/vivant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ava asks Beatrice how she knew she liked girls. The conversation does not go as planned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shotgun Mary &amp; Ava Silva, Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be comedic but my brain is incapable of doing that, apparently. Anyway, I love Beatrice, and despite having no particular Christian upbringing I got that internalized homophobia by the barrel. Selling it at a discount price. As the Greeks say: catharsis. This is also my first fic ever, so, uh, sorry if it’s shit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, Beatrice?”</p><p>Beatrice, seated at her desk, looked up from the dizzying array of knives splayed before her to see Ava standing in the doorway, haloed by the golden afternoon sun slanting through the corridor. It caught the loose frizz of her hair and set it aglow. She wouldn’t have looked amiss amongst a Byzantine chorus of angels. That is –she was a vision. Beatrice wasn’t entirely sure whether that thought could be considered blasphemy. But, she was drawn from her potentially-heretical thoughts by the unreadable expression on Ava’s face, which shot a pang of worry through her –Ava normally wore her emotions on her sleeve. “Yes?” </p><p>“You’re gay, right?” </p><p>Beatrice dropped the knife she had been polishing on the ground. It bounced, off its pommel, a fraction of a centimetre from her foot, and landed spinning on the floor between her and Ava. She watched it revolve for a second, her mind following the same pattern. “I, wh—” </p><p>What struck her first: Ava had said it so casually, like it was <em>easy</em>. Like she hadn’t spent her life haunted by that word. Like it wasn’t something she struggled to affix to herself even within the confines of her own mind. Like she hadn’t spent hours mouthing it in front of the mirror, watching the way her mouth shaped the word. Watching that reflexive flinch, her tell, and schooling the shiver of disgust from her face. But, of course she hadn’t –this was Ava. This wasn’t one of her demons. And even if Ava <em>had</em> liked women (something Beatrice resolutely refused to contemplate), Beatrice got the sense that it wouldn’t have fazed her. That she would have accepted that part of herself without fanfare, simple as breathing. Beatrice chose not to follow that pang of bitterness to its root. </p><p>“Why?” Beatrice eventually managed, proud of the way she’d schooled her voice into a semblance of normalcy. </p><p>“You are, right? <em>Lesbisch?</em> I didn’t misread that conversation?”</p><p>Beatrice couldn’t help the huffed, sharp laugh that escaped her, tilting her head down to hide her strained smile from Ava. She’d spent hours replaying <em>that</em> conversation in her mind, to the point of obsession –had she said too much? Not enough? Had Ava meant what she’d said in reply? <em>What you are is beautiful.</em> Beatrice tried to keep those words from her mind during the day, but they haunted her late into her nights, alone in the dark. Sometimes a balm against her restless mind. Sometimes the source of the ache. </p><p>“Yes.” Beatrice mustered at last. “Why?” She couldn’t conceal her wariness from the question –the way her voice tilted up at the end, trembling, betrayed her. </p><p>Ava took a step into Beatrice’s room. “How did you know?”</p><p>Beatrice could have laughed. She thought she might cry. She had to turn around, step away from the desk to look out her window, down into the training grounds of Cat’s Cradle. Small figures flowed through a series of offensive poses, too far away for Beatrice to make out who they were. “Know what?” she asked, buying herself some time to regain her composure. </p><p>“That you liked girls?” Ava continued, sounding more hesitant. Beatrice heard a creak of bedsprings, and cast a glance over her shoulder to see that Ava had settled herself on Beatrice’s bed. Ava was twisted to face her. Ava caught her eye, but quickly looked back down at her hands, restless in her lap. Beatrice didn’t know what to make of it. </p><p>“I, uhm,” she began ineloquently, moving to sit on the other side of the bed, her back to Ava. She couldn’t look at her as she said this. Afraid of what Ava might see on her face. “It was something that was, just, always there, for me. Like a universal constant. I was… drawn to girls.” She struggled to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I didn’t realize that not everyone felt the way I did, at first. But then my friends started becoming… interested… in boys, and I didn’t. It was the first time I was conscious of feeling different. Not that I had any cognizance of what that meant. I just really wanted to hold my friend Isabella’s hand. Wanted so bad it made my body ache.” She took a steadying breath, willing herself back into the present. Pushed down those memories, their warmth tinged now by the cold water of fear, the bitterness of shame. <em>Pain was what made me a Sister Warrior.</em> She had told Ava this story before, but couched in the safety of vaguer terms. “Things…. progressed. Eventually my parents found out. Caught me <em>in flagrante delicto.</em> Shipped me off to Catholic boarding school and, well. Here we are now.” </p><p>Beatrice felt a hand on her shoulder, radiating warmth. She looked over. Ava had moved closer, kneeling on the bed to fully face her. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ava whispered, looking stricken.</p><p>Beatrice twisted to half-face her. “Don’t be,” she said, conscious of the strange looping of time, the way their conversation in the ArqTech lab seemed to be replaying itself, albeit with the truth less veiled. She felt painfully exposed. Which was likely what prompted her to ask the next question –an eye for an eye. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Oh.” Ava withdrew her hand, suddenly giving Beatrice that nervous, wobbly smile of hers. “Y’know.” She waved a hand.</p><p>Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, I don’t.”</p><p>“It’s just—” Ava was looking everywhere but at her face. “I’ve always known I like boys, yanno?”</p><p>For reasons she didn’t want to investigate, Beatrice felt that like a punch to the gut. “Oh.” She began to stand up, anger seeping in. Had Ava asked her to expose the most vulnerable parts of herself just for the sake of entertainment? Had she been bored, and sought out Beatrice like she was a circus freak? Beatrice knew she was being unkind in her assessment, but she couldn’t help it. “Well. I’m glad my abnormalcy could satisfy your curiosity.” </p><p>“No.” Ava grabbed her wrist before she could pull too far away. “I wasn’t finished. I’ve always liked boys, but… I might like girls, too? That’s why I asked.” </p><p>Beatrice blinked. Once. Twice. Ava’s hand was a burning weight against her wrist. "Oh." </p><p>Ava rolled her eyes, gaze warm. <em>“Oh,”</em> she mimed.</p><p>“I, um. What brought you to this realization? If I might ask. That is. I don’t want to overstep—” Beatrice cut herself off. She was stumbling over her own tongue like a fool. Her cheeks felt excruciatingly warm. Her mind was stunningly blank; it felt the way her body did when it was reeling from a punch. </p><p>Ava looked away and shrugged. “Um. Girls are just really pretty, you know?” </p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“Uh-huh.” </p><p>“I, uh, don’t mean to dissuade your journey of self-discovery, Ava. But I’m pretty sure straight girls can find other girls pretty, too.” Beatrice wasn’t too sure why she said that. Only that she was trying desperately to tamp this feeling down before it had time to name itself as <em>hope.</em> Damn.</p><p>Ava huffed. “Okay, how about… <em>sexy?</em> Do straight girls look at other girls and think, ‘Mmm, I’d rail her. Or, oh, be railed by her’?” </p><p>Beatrice choked on her own spit. She briefly wished she had Ava’s gift, so she could phase right through the floor instead of trying to find something to say to <em>that.</em> Her whole body burned in an excruciating combination of embarrassment and lust. Was this a precursor to the fires of Hell? Self-immolation sounded like a better alternative in this moment. </p><p> 	Ava must have mistaken her sputtering for actual respiratory distress, because she suddenly moved closer and put a hand on Beatrice’s back, beginning to rub soothing circles. Just like that, Beatrice <em>was</em> in actual respiratory distress. </p><p>Mary chose that moment to appear in the doorway, a sign of God’s eternal mercy. </p><p>Beatrice leapt to her feet. “I have to go,” she announced, voice still choked. “Pressing matters.” </p><p>Beatrice fled the room. She felt Ava’s eyes on her back as she went, and couldn’t push down a prickle of shame. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>****</p>
</div><p>Mary jumped out of the way as Beatrice brushed past her, looking stricken. Subtly so, but Mary could read it in the hard gleam of her eyes, and the way her hands were crushed into fists at her sides. Mary watched Ava watch Beatrice go, caught the way Ava’s brow crumpled. <em>God,</em> those two needed to sort their shit out. </p><p>Mary had wanted to speak to Beatrice about OCS business. But she knew there was no point approaching her when she was in a state. So, instead Mary leaned against the door, and said, with careful nonchalance, “Do I even wanna know?”</p><p>Ava flopped down on Beatrice’s bed and pressed the base of her palms against her eyes. “I came out to Beatrice. I don’t think it went very well.”  </p><p>Mary couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. Unexpected. Well. Not <em>that</em> unexpected. Everyone could see how those two looked at each other, how they shared private laughter and lingering touches. Mary had been pleased, if a little wary. She knew Beatrice had had a difficult time, didn’t know if she had fully reconciled her own attraction. And she knew Ava was sometimes over-eager, but also very sensitive to rejection. They were good for each other, but also a potentially volatile combination, at the wrong moment.</p><p>“Why do you say that?” Mary asked. </p><p>“You saw how she just <em>left.</em> And I thought <em>I</em> was the flight risk.” Upset bled through in the quaver of Ava’s voice.</p><p>Mary pursed her lips into a line, thinking. How to phrase this tactfully? Ugh. Since when had she become the resident OCS therapist? “Mind if I sit?”</p><p>Ava sat back up. “I’ve already warmed a spot for you,” she said, patting the end of the bed. Despite the levity of her words, there was an uncharacteristic heaviness to the set of her shoulders. Ava was trying to conceal the depth to which she had been hurt by Beatrice’s sudden departure. </p><p>Mary sighed, and sat next to her. <em>Damn,</em> this bed was hard. Not that she expected anything less from Beatrice. Worldly comforts? Not for her. Now, where to begin? Mary drew in a breath. “I’m sure you know Beatrice hasn’t had the easiest time… accepting herself. Her family—”</p><p>“Were dickbags?” Ava supplied. </p><p>Mary laughed. “Exactly. But, Ava, that kind of rejection, from the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally, who you <em>trusted—</em>” Her mind flared briefly to Vincent, the sharp sting of his betrayal fresh despite the months it had been, and she paused to collect herself. “It leaves wounds. Hard-to-heal ones. And sometimes when they’re exposed, your instinct is to protect yourself. To run away. To not let yourself get hurt again.” </p><p>Ava balled her hands into fists, and placed them in her lap with an unexpected degree of composure. “I don’t want to hurt her,” she whispered, almost quiet enough that Mary didn’t catch it.</p><p>“I know.” </p><p>“I just—” Ava paused, seemingly choosing her words with again an uncharacteristic care. Mary felt her evaluation of Ava begin to shift, ever so minutely in her mind. Maybe Beatrice really was a good influence. “I just want to make her feel loved.”</p><p>Mary stifled her comment on <em>hormones</em> before it could leave her mouth. Now was not the time for flippancy. “You already do,” she said instead. </p><p>Ava sounded frustrated. “No, I mean—I want to hold her, and kiss her, and I want—”</p><p>Mary held up a hand. “Spare me the details. Some things I don’t wanna picture.”  </p><p>“Sorry. Hormones?” Ava looked chagrined. </p><p>Mary laughed, and then stilled. “It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?” </p><p>Ava stared off into the distance for a long moment. Mary let her think. She remembered how it had been with Shannon, and <em>God,</em> it had been more than a year, but the thought still made her heart feel cracked-open. That was one wound she didn’t think would ever heal. </p><p>Finally, Ava spoke. “Yeah, it is. I think. What do I <em>do</em> about it, Mary?” </p><p>Mary shrugged. “Be yourself. Beatrice cares about you for you.” Mary paused, then shot a teasing glance over at Ava. “God knows how.”</p><p>“<em>Hey,</em> I’m a fucking treasure.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Ava grew quieter again. “But, how do I keep her from running away again?”</p><p>Mary exhaled. “Just be gentle. Beatrice knows who she is, but she’s still learning to let herself love that part of herself. Show her you care, but give her time to allow herself to accept that care. If she runs, don’t chase her. Wait for her to come back in her own time. Does that make sense?” </p><p>Ava nodded, but then frowned. “But, what if… what if she doesn’t want me, that way?” </p><p>Mary barked a laugh. “Girl, you’re blind. She’s head-over-heels for you. I’ve never seen Beatrice look at anybody the way she looks at you.”  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>****</p>
</div><p>Outside her room, back pressed to the cold stone beside her door, Beatrice pressed a shaking fist to her mouth. She bit down on it to prevent any sound escaping. Tears blurred her vision. Those that had already fallen wet the front of her habit where it met her neck, staining the deep blue almost black. What had she done to deserve any of this? Mary’s quiet understanding: the way she had been seen despite how carefully she’d believed she’d hidden herself. The depth of Ava’s care for her. The depth of her own <em>wanting.</em> Was this a test, a punishment from God, or a gift? Beatrice didn’t know, and that frightened her. Frightened her more than fighting demons, hired guns, even Adriel himself. In battle, she was level-headed. In battle, she knew herself. But in this moment, slumped against a wall with snot drying on her face– Beatrice didn’t know this girl. Who was she? What did she <em>want?</em> What was she allowed to want?</p><p>Beatrice heard sound from inside the room –a creak as someone stood up from her bed. She pushed herself off the wall and sprinted down the corridor, turning the corner to vanish from sight. She wasn’t ready to confront this. Not yet. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>****</p>
</div><p>Ava poked her head out of the room, hearing quick footsteps on stone, and caught a flash of disappearing navy blue. <em>Fuck.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Beatrice runs into Lilith, who halts her in her tracks.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I wasn't actually expecting to write a continuation, but here we are. This has gotten away from me. This one is just more of the same: all introspection and talking about feelings. Didn't know I had this much mushiness in me. I think I might have one chapter left in me after this, but who knows!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The transition from the hallowed darkness of Cat’s Cradle to the late afternoon sun blinded Beatrice momentarily as she burst out a side door, tumbling onto the training grounds, and, as misfortune would have it, straight into Lilith. If it hadn’t been so bright that she could barely see, Beatrice would have sworn that Lilith had just <em>materialized</em> there. Perhaps she had. Her abilities were still a mystery to everyone.</p><p>Lilith reached out with preternaturally swift reflexes and grabbed Beatrice by the upper arm. Long, dark claws dug into her habit, pricking Beatrice’s skin. “Watch where you’re going,” Lilith hissed.</p><p>That spark of pain kicked Beatrice into reflex; she jerked out of Lilith’s grip to adopt a defensive stance –centre of gravity wide, arms close to her chest, hands crushed into fists. Her mind caught up a moment later: wait, this was Lilith. Beatrice’s pounding heart slowed, but only incrementally.</p><p>Lilith snatched her hand away like she’d been burned and hid it behind her back. Beatrice didn’t miss the fear that flickered across Lilith’s features. Beatrice tried to school her posture back into neutrality, but couldn’t keep her own hand from travelling to the five small puncture holes Lilith had just left in her sleeve. “Sorry.” Beatrice grimaced. “I didn’t see you.”</p><p>“What are you running from?” Lilith asked, craning her head to look over Beatrice’s shoulder to the open doorway.</p><p>Beatrice resisted the urge to look behind her, not wanting to confirm Lilith’s assessment. She stepped away from the door with all the nonchalance she could muster, letting it slowly swing shut behind her. “I wasn’t running.”</p><p>“Liar.” Lilith’s voice held its characteristic bite.</p><p>That cut deeper than Lilith’s claws. Beatrice struggled to defend herself. “I—”</p><p>“I literally saw you.” Lilith’s eyes focused on Beatrice’s face with razor-sharp scrutiny. It drew a flush immediately from Beatrice’s collar to her cheeks. “Wait, were you… crying?”</p><p>Beatrice tried to sidestep Lilith, the urge to flee overwhelming her. Ava’s words to Mary in her room returned to her: <em>And I thought </em>I<em> was the flight risk</em>. What was becoming of her? Beatrice had always been a fighter. She’d re-built her identity from the ground up around that fact. A source of pride, to wash out the shame. Ava brought out a version of herself that Beatrice didn’t quite recognize. One who got flustered, and stumbled over her words. Who laughed easily, who made stupid jokes. <em>Who ran away.</em> “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”  </p><p>Lilith’s hand grabbed Beatrice’s forearm again, grip firm. Her claws were gone. “Too much obfuscation around here these days,” she said, voice placid as water on a calm afternoon. “Walk with me?”</p><p>Though it had been phrased as a question, Beatrice heard the undercurrent of command. She knew better than to cross Lilith –this had been a rule even before Lilith had become… whatever she was now. <em>Still Lilith</em>, Beatrice reminded herself. Just more uncertain. More volatile. And, truly, weren’t they all, these days? Beatrice pulled her arm back to herself, but tucked her chin in to signal her acquiescence.</p><p>They began walking around the training grounds, just inside the cast shade of Cat’s Cradle. They moved in calm silence for a few minutes. Beatrice turned away from Lilith to ostensibly watch the training she had seen from her window earlier, and surreptitiously wiped the still-drying snot from her nose and chin. Inside, Beatrice burned. Embarrassment churned up her stomach. She set her jaw against it, clinging to her composure in front of Lilith, her only remaining defense. Her mind still swirled with the conversation she had overheard. Ava’s words rattled around inside her, buzzing just below her skin. <em>I just want to make her feel loved</em>. Everything Beatrice had feared to want, had wanted to fear, growing in the moments where Ava had stood too close to her, had given Beatrice that crooked smile reserved just for her, had laughed with her, teased her, taken her breath away. That time she had landed one particularly good hit in training and floored Beatrice, before following her down to cup Beatrice’s face in her hands, legs straddling her waist, apologizing so profusely that Beatrice hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. (It hadn’t had anything to do with the fact that Ava was on top of her. And if that scenario had haunted her dreams from then on out, well, that was between her and God. Between her and God and all her waking moments, drenched in shame.) Now the fact of it stood stark before her in the daylight: Ava wanted her <em>that way </em> too. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. And apparently it was obvious that Beatrice felt the same. So, why had she run?</p><p>“So, what are you running from?” Lilith asked, voice as neutral as if she were commenting on the weather.</p><p>This time, Beatrice knew better than to deny it to Lilith’s face. “What makes you think it concerns you?” she replied, trying to keep her inner turmoil from spilling into her tone.</p><p>“What makes you think it doesn’t?”</p><p>Beatrice huffed sharply through her nose, but didn’t answer. Did all of her Sisters see through her as easily as Mary had? Was she transparent to them? Was she <em>pitiful?</em> Beatrice had thought this conflict was between her and God alone. But, of course, it never really had been, had it? It had been between her and her parents, first. They were the ones who’d brought God into it, who’d told her that she was an affront to Him. That’d she would have to work for His forgiveness. She hadn’t known that she’d been doing anything wrong.</p><p>“Okay,” Lilith drawled, after a beat of silence. “What were you crying about?”</p><p>Beatrice stiffened. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.” This time, she couldn’t keep the bite from her voice.</p><p>To her irritation, that drew a short laugh from Lilith. “Well, if we lived our lives according to <em>want </em>alone…” Lilith trailed off. Perhaps Beatrice was feeling raw, but that silence carried an accusatory weight. An acid taste rose up her throat, starting up a burning behind her eyes.</p><p>“Our vows protect against that,” Beatrice said curtly.</p><p>From the corner of her eye, Beatrice caught Lilith glancing quickly at her and then away, up at the parapets of Cat’s Cradle and the achingly-blue sky beyond it. After a pregnant pause, Lilith asked, voice low, “Do you ever feel like you took your vows for the wrong reasons?”</p><p>Beatrice stopped in her tracks. They had come around the side of the building to the courtyard where the first <em>Padre</em> of the Order watched over them. Given all that had occurred, his gaze seemed almost mocking.</p><p>Lilith continued: “Because sometimes I do.”</p><p>Beatrice felt winded. Like she had been knocked on her back, forced to look up at the sky spinning senselessly above her. She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. Unbidden, Beatrice remembered one of her earliest conversations with Ava: <em>I took my vows younger than most, if that helps. </em>Or her hesitance to help Mary, when everything had first gone to shit: <em>I joined the Church to save my eternal soul. </em>And Mary’s cutting reply: <em>Oh, is that the version of the story you’re telling?</em></p><p>Lilith stepped out towards the ramparts, leaning over them to survey the valley below. She beckoned Beatrice to join her. When Beatrice walked up, legs heavy as lead, Lilith cleared her throat. “I come from six generations of Halo-Bearers,” she began, a familiar recitation. This was what Lilith invoked whenever she felt entitled to something. But then, Lilith’s voice broke. “I was supposed to be the seventh. I never had a choice in any of this—” She gestured to Cat’s Cradle, looming over them. Its shadow stretched to darken the gold-washed cobblestones, the shadowy fingers of its spires reaching out to touch them. “The course of my life was set into motion centuries before I was born. I never tried to fight it. Never considered I could. Never considered I could even want to. I had a legacy to fulfil. Expectations to live up to. And now look at me. My entire family thinks I’m <em>dead</em>.” Lilith’s voice cracked on the last word. Beatrice looked away to give her a moment to compose herself. “And I don’t even know who I am anymore. <em>What </em>I am. If I’m even still human.”</p><p>A lump formed in Beatrice’s throat. With everything that had happened, she had barely stopped to consider how Lilith might be feeling about all of this. Beatrice suddenly realized, that in all her self-concern, she’d become a bad friend. The realization burned at the back of her throat. “You’re human, Lilith. But, more than that, you’re still one of us. That will <em>never </em>change.” Beatrice reached out to rest her palm on Lilith’s forearm.</p><p>Lilith nodded and smiled at her, small and slightly uncertain. “That’s beyond my point, though. What I’m trying to say is… maybe if I had questioned my path and what put me on it, questioned my motivations for taking my vows, maybe my life would look a lot different now. Maybe I’d be somewhere else. Maybe I’d still be here. Maybe I never would have… died. Perhaps I still would have.”</p><p> Something inside Beatrice curled inward defensively, hiding from the weight of Lilith's words. “What good does speculation do, Lily? What’s past is past.” Beatrice couldn’t keep the bitterness from spilling into her tone.</p><p>Lilith turned to face her, and Beatrice felt suddenly, mercilessly exposed. “Perhaps it’s too late for me. But not for you, Bea. There are so many alternate futures ahead of you, if only you’d let yourself speculate.”</p><p>A chill crept up Beatrice’s spine, pricking gooseflesh in its wake. She had always considered her base impulse to be fight, not flight. She thought back to what she had told Ava in Jillian Salvius’ office: <em>Pain was what made me a Sister Warrior. </em>It had been the truth. But what was it concealing? How had her pain shaped her? What had it made her do?</p><p><em>Oh.</em> There was an inevitability to the realization that struck her –less of a sudden peal of understanding than a reverberation, sounding deep and mournful against something tucked away deep inside her. I<em> think I’ve spent my whole life running away from myself</em>. From the pain that being herself had caused her. Beatrice had run straight from her parents’ arms to the Church, seeking shelter from herself. And she had hidden, put up barricades. Took her vows to protect herself from ever having to confront her truth, her own personal pain. And now that Ava had chipped through her defenses and excavated the part of herself Beatrice had thought she’d hidden so well –that part of her that <em>loved</em>—of course Beatrice had run. Despite her fearlessness in combat, her skill and her faith, Beatrice had chosen flight over fight. Time and time again.</p><p>Beatrice didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Lilith’s hand, warm and human, cup her cheek, the pad of Lilith’s thumb brushing under her eye. The intimacy of the gesture startled her –Beatrice almost pulled away. Considered running. It would be easy, to step away from Lilith and retreat into the shadow of Cat’s Cradle. It would be safer. It would hurt less than this: the brutal openness of her pain exposed to Lilith and the light of day. But Beatrice stopped herself. She had done enough running today.</p><p>Beatrice took a shaky breath. “I’m not sure how to talk about it,” she began. “But you’re right. I think I’ve spent so long running away, that I forgot I was running at all.” She paused. “Not what I was running from, though.”</p><p>Lilith removed her hand, but didn’t step away. “We may have been drawn together by circumstance, or by the will of God, but that isn’t what’s kept us together. You’re my sister, Beatrice. I love you for who you are, not despite it. All of us do.”</p><p>Beatrice had to look away. She turned towards the valley. The tears in her eyes refracted it into a glittering patchwork of gold and green, interspersed with mottled shadows. Something caught in her throat at the sight. She took a steadying breath, and glanced back at Lilith. “I think part of me knows that. But it’s hard to accept something that so directly contradicts your most deeply-held beliefs.”</p><p>Lilith raised an eyebrow. “My very existence currently contradicts my most deeply-held beliefs,” she deadpanned.</p><p>Beatrice couldn’t help it –her mouth wobbled into a smile. Lilith started laughing, and she couldn’t help but follow. Once she had caught her breath, hand holding her side, Beatrice realized what she needed to do. For the span of this moment, at least, she was done hiding. Lilith had already seen her. But it was up to Beatrice to claim that, to step forward and inhabit the space her Sisters had made for her here. Beatrice was shocked by the sudden <em>want</em> that surged through her: she wanted to say it. For the first time since her parents had caught her with her lips pressed against another girl's mouth like a prayer, she wanted to be seen. The shame was still there, of course. Beatrice didn't think it would ever go away. But for the first time, she fought its pull: the urge to turn away, look elsewhere, hide. Beatrice did her best to hold Lilith’s gaze. A moment of silence stretched gossamer-thin between them before Beatrice worked up the courage to say, “Lily, I’m… gay.”</p><p>Lilith held her gaze and nodded, a gentle dip of her head. She didn’t need to say anything, because of course she had already known. Beatrice had just wanted to finally say it out loud. But then Lilith smiled, a devilish quirk of her lips. “And I’m an abomination in the eyes of the Church.”</p><p>"And we're both nuns."</p><p>They both burst out laughing again. Beatrice had to lean against the parapet for support. She watched tears leak from the corners of Lilith’s eyes. For the first time in a very long time, Beatrice felt light. Unburdened.</p>
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